Today I watched the movie Hotel Rwanda. I have been meaning to see it for awhile for a number of book reasons. One was the book that the movie was based on We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda That was an extraordinary read about the Rwandan Genocide, the culpability of the Western world and the bravery and humanity of a gentleman who was the manager of a hotel in the main city. Another was a book that I read far more recently, Not on Our Watch: the Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond. This one was co-written by an international peace worker, John Prendergast and Don Cheadle, the actor who played the lead character in this movie. And lastly, I saw a copy of it recently and realized that it would be a good time to watch some grim downer movies while Mike was away at a conference and I could indulge in hormonal chick tears as much as I pleased. The movie was very good. The leading lady was beautiful and brilliant. One of those actors that you don’t expect to ever see again in a Hollywood movie cause they are simply too real. The book, We Wish to Inform you… was even better. Able to summarize and explain a complex history without shortcuts or stereotypes. 
Genocide is always been one of the subtexts in my reading life. My mother considered it the question of her generation –the world war II generation and collected holocaust literature the last 20 years of her life. I remember her saying to me that it might be that we (you girls, she would say, or you kids) would have to grapple with Vietnam or some other public justice tragedy. She would sit in bed and read her newspapers (two daily and three Sundays) her novels and stacks and stacks of history, politics, travel. It was wonderful to be with her, to learn from her and to learn how terrible the world can be, and to believe and know how wonderful.
To bear witness. To know and understand and tell others. It does not appear to be enough in the communication laden 21st century where everyone is frozen in information overload.
Genocide is always been one of the subtexts in my reading life. My mother considered it the question of her generation –the world war II generation and collected holocaust literature the last 20 years of her life. I remember her saying to me that it might be that we (you girls, she would say, or you kids) would have to grapple with Vietnam or some other public justice tragedy. She would sit in bed and read her newspapers (two daily and three Sundays) her novels and stacks and stacks of history, politics, travel. It was wonderful to be with her, to learn from her and to learn how terrible the world can be, and to believe and know how wonderful.
To bear witness. To know and understand and tell others. It does not appear to be enough in the communication laden 21st century where everyone is frozen in information overload.
2 comments:
Do you remember the woman in our writing group who only read or wrote stories with happy endings? I feel a little like her lately. I bury my head in the sand of horror and fantasy. It's awful but certainly not real. The rawness and fear I feel after reading the paper or watching the news is like a slap in the face. Reality is too much to handle somedays. Am I strong enough or brave enough to bear witness? I wonder.
yesterday in hospice team meeting we were talking about the toll it takes to hear people's sorrow. staggering sometimes.
lately my reaction has been to get a pedicure. I think my mother would have found that hilarious.
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